"Nay, with every other person 'tis the same thing--If we are stuffed into a coach, with a little chattering pert Miss, "Oh dear, Mr. Anthony Euston, you must not ride backwards, here is room for you on this seat--and Mr. Euston, I know, will like one seat as well as another"--and then am...

"Oh thou! to save whose peace I now depart, / Will thy soft mind, thy poor lost friend deplore, / When worms shall feed on this devoted heart, / Where even thy image shall be found no more / Yet may thy pity mingle not with pain, / For then thy hapless lover--dies in vain!"